


The Art of Growing Up

by gooseberry



Series: The Kingdom [7]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Relationships, Coming of Age, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:13:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooseberry/pseuds/gooseberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt on my tumblr:<b> the first time Dwalin realized that Kili isn't the pudgy faced child he used to be, but an attractive young dwarf that he can't seem to keep his hands off of.</b></p>
<p>Dwalin returns to Ered Luin for the first time in years, and soon realizes that Kili is nearly an adult. Cue awkward feelings of confusion and regret, because the engagement is suddenly becoming rather real in Dwalin's head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Growing Up

It has been years since Dwalin’s been underground, and the first step into Ered Luin is like stepping into peace itself. He can _feel_ his muscles relaxing, his shoulders dropping and his hips going loose. He breathes in deeply, searching for the taste of stone and precious metals and mountain water, and when he feels the scents on the back of his tongue, he tries to swallow it down.

He has missed this place.

Propriety would have him go to Balin’s home first, to greet his brother and offer news; then, washed and properly clothed, he would go to Thorin’s house, and then Dis’s. He has a bag full of gifts, though, that he has carried all the way up from the south, and he wants to see Dis’s boys laugh and fight over the sweets. So, dusty and disheveled and probably a little dishonorably, he knocks at Dis’s door first, still wearing his travel-stained clothes.

It is Fili who opens the door, who says, “Mister Dwalin, come in.”

Dwalin ducks his head beneath the lintel, touching the marriage stone politely as he steps inside. He knocks his boots as clean as he can, and leans his warhammer in the corner behind the door as he says, “Only for a moment, but I have gifts for your family.”

Fili’s smile is massive, and he reaches out to take Dwalin’s bags eagerly; Dwalin hands them over, then unclasps his cloak.

“Where is Kili?” he asks. “And Dis?”

“Mother’s at a meeting, and Kili is in the kitchen.”

Fili doesn’t seem to be interested in fetching his brother, though--he is looking at Dwalin’s bags intently, as though by looking he’ll be able to learn what gifts Dwalin has brought. Dwalin pushes past Fili, further into the house, and shouts, “Kili, come and greet me!”

Dwalin has been gone for years, with few thoughts spared for his kin in Ered Luin. The years have stacked up, as slow and steady as the growth of stalagmites. When Kili stumbles into the front room, like a storm blowing in, Dwalin realizes just how many years have passed.

Kili is taller now--so much taller. When Dwalin had left, Kili had come to just about Dwalin’s chest, but now his head must come nearly to Dwalin’s shoulder. His hair is still a mess, all loose tangles, but he has the beginnings of a beard, dark stubble over the entirety of his jaw. He’s been taken out of the brightly colored clothing of childhood, and he’s been dressed in dark blues and purples like a proper dwarvish prince. 

“Mister Dwalin,” Kili says brightly; his smile is as large as Fili’s, perhaps even larger, and Durin’s Beard, but how many years has Dwalin been away? “Have you come for my birthday?”

“I suppose I have,” Dwalin says hoarsely; he’s not sure himself, not anymore, and he thinks that perhaps he should have gone to Balin’s house first, so that Balin could have warned him of how much Dis’s sons had grown. “How old will you be?”

“Fifty-nine,” Kili says before Fili interrupts, demanding that they open up the gifts _now_. 

Dwalin nods, and watches as Dis’s sons dig through his bags, pulling out sugared fruits and a pair of knives with cunning designs on the hilts. The knives are identical, one for each boy, and when Fili and Kili look at the blades, Dwalin realizes that he has never thought of them as separate entities, that he has never thought of them as anything other than Dis’s sons and Thorin’s nephews. 

The boys both look pleased with the knives, but Dwalin finds himself wondering if he should have gotten something different for each--if he should have brought a gift for Kili alone. Kili says his thanks absentmindedly, still looking for gifts in the depths of Dwalin’s bags, and Dwalin thinks that, Durin help him, he doesn’t know this child at all. 

“Is there more?” Fili asks, already stuffing a candied orange into his mouth. Dwalin shakes his head, then grabs one of the bags, repacking it messily.

“Not today,” he says, “but perhaps for Kili’s birthday--Fili, save some of those for Dis.”

“Then you’ll be back?” Kili asks; he’s sitting on the floor, looking up at Dwalin, and it seems strange to Dwalin, so very strange, to see a nearly-grown dwarf looking up at him, when he last saw a child. 

“I will,” Dwalin says as he grabs his other bag, tugging it out of Fili’s hands, “on your birthday.”

The boys see him out of the house, jostling each other and fighting to be the one to hand Dwalin his warhammer. Kili wins out with a brutal-looking elbow thrown into Fili’s ribs, and he looks proud of himself as he holds the warhammer out for Dwalin. 

Dwalin takes his hammer from Kili, and he doesn’t jerk when his fingers touch Kili’s, but he wonders how the years have gone by so quickly, and how he has so lost track of his life.


End file.
